Month: November 2016

Dust settles all over me. It’s not that I am still. No, I never have been. Only, it is that I am untasted, untouched, still wrapped, still done up. Like a Russian princess in her abandoned castle that emits purple smoke, the remains charred from rebellion. I’m waiting and waiting and waiting. In the room next door Genghis Khan strikes again. It is not the … Continue reading “Genghis Khan Strikes Again” by Stephanie Macias

Boys in white sneakers are a sure sign things have changed. Craft beers and button-ups, additionally. I want it to be black again, all around me. Boots and leather and music for young anger to cut its teeth on. Ancient cigarette smoke and dingy towels. Warm whiskey burning an arrow down my throat. Dipping my hips in close to you handling me. Realizing we are … Continue reading “Lemniscate” by Stephanie Macias

Single late thirties is a buffet of cold meat and that pizza you cannot will into being delicious no matter how tight you shut your eyes. Besides, you’re still not sure if the $7.99 plus tax will overdraft your account. It’s hard getting down to the business of eating fast enough to forget there’s no taste— the spongy meat breaking apart readily like an asteroid … Continue reading “Buffet” by Stephanie Macias